


The Elevator Ride

by CourtingInsanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Elevator Sex, Enemies, F/M, Hate Sex, POV Hermione Granger, Praise Kink, Punishment, Rough Sex, Smut, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 15:04:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17226245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingInsanity/pseuds/CourtingInsanity
Summary: Hermione Granger and Tom Riddle have never seen eye to eye, but when they're stuck working late on an impossible project, their ire comes to a head...pun intended.





	The Elevator Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Tomione_Fest18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Tomione_Fest18) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Co-Worker AU. Hermione and Tom get into a huge argument over having to work together on a project so late, and make the huge mistake of getting into an elevator together after closing the office up. 
> 
> The power goes out. They're trapped.
> 
> W h a t e v e r will happen n e x t ? ? ?

The maze of office cubicles were still and empty beneath the greyish glow of the lanterns placed strategically along the walls. Beyond the glass windows lay the twinkling city of London, and from the meeting room at the far end of the space came the only sound - of two people arguing. 

“If it wasn’t for your screw up, we wouldn’t be working at eleven o’clock on a Friday night!” a deep, masculine voice said. 

"My screw up? I wasn’t the one who refused to take notes during the damn meeting, Riddle!” A woman with chocolate brown curls sticking out in all directions paced the length of the room, her hands on her hips. 

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Your nose may enjoy a brief vacation from its usual position between Egerton’s cheeks, but I am not going to hunch over a clipboard during a consultation - it’s sloppy practice!” 

They glared at each other, brown eyes meeting brown, as they squared off. His hair was black, parted on the side and would usually have sat perfectly combed to the right, but now it was hanging in his eyes, a sure sign that he had lost all sense of decorum. 

“If my practice is so sloppy,” the woman said, stalking towards him, “then why don’t you just fix it on your own?” 

He ground his back teeth together, the sound cutting through the otherwise silent room. For a moment it seemed that he was going to say something, but then he rolled his eyes to the ceiling and puffed out his cheeks in a forceful exhale. He turned to the long desk situated in the middle of the room, which was laden with folders, sketches and an array of coloured sticky-notes. From inside of his navy blue suit-jacket, he pulled out his wand and flourished it towards the mess. In a second, the papers rearranged themselves into three neat piles, and two mugs of steaming coffee appeared. 

“Here,” he growled, thrusting one of them towards the woman. “Let’s start again; the answer is somewhere in here.” He nodded towards the pile and then pulled out a chair, settling himself in front of a stack of folders. 

She sighed, but made her way to the table and sat opposite him. She took a sip from her drink and plucked a purple sticky-note from the front of a small square of parchment. “What is it with men and Quidditch?” she murmured, fingering the sketch of a snitch. 

This earned her a derisive snort from her partner. “Beats me,” he muttered. 

“You never played at Hogwarts?” 

He only glared in response. 

Tom Riddle didn’t do teamwork; he was used to working on his own, and succeeding without the help of others...which was precisely why he was struggling with this project. The client had asked for both male and female input, which - while irritating - was understandable. What baffled Tom, however, was why his boss had decided that the best man for the job would be him. 

For starters, he could not stand his partner. Granger was a swot, a brown-noser, and always thought she was in charge. She grated on Tom’s nerves like no one else had the ability to do, and the witch only had to walk into a room to set his teeth on edge. Forcing them to work together was a disaster waiting to happen; if they made it a week without hexing each other, it would be a miracle. 

And then there was the fact that their clients - who were personal friends of Granger’s - wanted the input of a witch and a wizard when creating their next advertising campaign. If Tom wasn’t the ultimate professional, he would have turned down the project. He was suspicious of the Weasley twins who ran the successful franchise of joke shops, and not just because they had terrible reputations as pranksters. There was something about them that just weirded him out. Maybe it was the way they finished each other’s sentences, or the way they looked at Granger during meetings…

“Are you even listening to me?” Hermione Granger was not used to being ignored. She clicked her fingers in front of Riddle’s face a few times, only just resisting the urge to reach out a tiny bit further and slap him. 

“No,” Riddle replied in a bored tone. He shed his jacket, resting it across his lap as he loosened his tie and then undid the first two buttons on his white shirt.

Hermione huffed. It was a sick joke that she had been placed on this project with the arrogant and cold Tom Riddle. She wanted to do a good job - not just because it was in her nature, but because Fred and George were counting on her. She could not deny that she was confused as to why that had specifically asked for her to design the advertising campaign...they had never wanted to mix business and friendship before, despite her attempts at convincing them to use the marketing firm she worked for in the past. And now, not only had they demanded her specifically, they had also asked for Riddle. 

“Well then, I think we should call it a night.” 

“Thank Salazar.” Riddle slapped his hands down on the table, causing the carefully arranged pieces of parchment to scatter about. She ground her teeth together as he stood. “It’s been a pleasure, Granger,” he said sarcastically as he began to gather his things. “Goodnight.” 

Hermione’s hands curled into fists as she also stood and waved her wand, correcting the mess he had made. She was four paces behind him as they left the office, breaking into a slow jog as his strides lengthened in an attempt to flee from her presence.

The elevator clanged open and Riddle stepped through the gilded gates. He turned, smirking darkly as he flicked his wand and the gates began to slide inwards. Hermione leapt forward, her arm only just making contact with the cool metal inches before they closed.

She shot him her own smirk as she settled beside him, and earned herself a burning scowl in return. “I wasn’t aware you were so keen to spend more time with me, Granger,” he murmured between clenched teeth. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Hermione scoffed. “I just don’t want to have to spend any more time here than strictly necessary.”

“Well maybe,” he growled, staring straight ahead as they began to move slowly downwards, “if you weren’t so difficult to work with, the campaign would have been finalised by now.” 

“I’m difficult to work with?” Hermione rolled her eyes skyward. “I’m not the one who has refused to accept anything other than my own ideas!” 

The elevator shuddered and Riddle turned to face her. His expression was one of utter loathing, and though a small voice in the back of her mind said that she should be scared, stuck here alone in an elevator with the man who had made her life far more difficult than it needed to be for the past year and a half, Hermione could not bring herself to feel scared. She was far too angry for that. 

Sparks crackled around her head, reflecting in the plated gold of the elevator. She wanted to hurt him, to push him far enough that he would either leave her alone, or at least stop behaving like she was scum beneath his shoe. 

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest as they locked eyes. “You are the most insufferable person I’ve ever had the misfortune to work with.” The elevator gave another shudder. “You are borish, egotistical, and you overestimate your own abilities.”

Hermione barked a mirthless laugh. “Says you!” She threw her arms wide and the elevator gave another violent shudder, sending her stumbling against the wall. The heat in her eyes did not dim, however, as she continued to glare at Riddle. “You are arrogant, entitled, and you believe everyone is beneath you!”

“Because they are!” he snarled. The elevator was positively vibrating, but the pair of them ignored it as Riddle stepped forward, his chest pressing against hers as he glared down at her. Hermione could feel his warm breath on her face as her mind reeled; she could not remember ever feeling so enraged. 

As they continued to stare at each other, the crackling of magic surrounding them intensified and the elevator ground to a halt, still shaking madly. The machine jostled them as it came to a stop, and Hermione braced herself by splaying her palms over Riddle’s chest. He flung himself backwards as if she had burned him, first sneering down at her and then glancing around once he realised they were no longer moving. 

Hermione opened her mouth to ask what he had done, but then the golden sparks fizzled out and the elevator settled. The energy had dimmed, but the elevator was still stationary. 

They turned to face each other again and said simultaneously, “What did you do?” 

“I didn't do anything!” Hermione growled. 

“Well neither did I!” 

Riddle whipped out his wand and began muttering spells beneath his breath, one hand braced against the inside of the elevator. 

Hermione folded her arms and tapped her foot as she watched him with one eyebrow raised. He turned to snarl at her after a minute, “I think we created a surge.”

“A surge?”

He rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the wall. “A magical surge. When we were arguing, our magical cores sent out more power than strictly necessary for...well, anything.” He ran a hand exasperatedly through his hair, beginning to pace around the perimeter. “Our magic messed with the magic that controls the elevator.” He waved a hand dismissively around him, though he did not break his stride. 

Hermione moved into the centre and turned slowly on the spot, following his movements. “So...you’re saying that we’re —” 

“Stuck, Granger, yes.”

Hermione huffed. “Well I’m sure there’s a spell —”

“There is a spell,” Riddle said, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise, “and wouldn’t you know - I tried it!” 

“Let me try —”

“It won’t work,” he said flatly, folding his arms across his chest. “Our magic has taken a hit with the surge; I think we’ve burnt ourselves out.” 

Hermione ignored him. She raised her wand arm and whispered the incantation.

“I told you.” Riddle watched as she continued to hiss and wave her wand to no avail. He sighed, sliding down the wall and making himself comfortable on the floor.

Hermione let her arms fall back to her side and she hung her head, still facing the wall. She did not want to turn around and see the look of superiority on his face. The thought alone was enough to make anger bubble dangerously in her chest. 

“Somebody will come for us in the morning,” he said softly. To an untrained ear, the sound may have been misconstrued as an attempt at comfort, but Hermione knew better; he was taunting her. 

She ground her teeth together and continued to stare at the wall. They stayed like that, Hermione standing and glaring at the wall, with Riddle’s burning gaze boring into the back of her neck. The tiny hairs there prickled, but Hermione fisted her hands at her side to keep from fulfilling the urge to scratch it. 

It was just her luck to be stuck in such a situation as this. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and she turned her face upwards in an attempt to prevent them from falling down her cheeks. Frustration coursed through her veins, making her feel as though tiny insects were crawling on her skin. She exhaled forcefully, suddenly restless. 

“Do you think they’ll be in on a Saturday?” she barked, far louder than intended. Her voice echoed around the small space and she winced. 

He narrowed his eyes as his head knocked against the wall behind him. Glaring at her, he shrugged slowly. Hermione huffed and licked her lips, deciding that while they were trapped, she may as well be comfortable. She shed her robes and lay them neatly on the floor before settling on them, making sure to cross her legs to preserve her modesty. 

Riddle sneered at her movements, but she did not indulge his obvious desire to engage in further verbal combat. Exhaustion was setting in, and Hermione was determined to ignore him until helped arrived - or their magic returned, whichever happened first. 

For a while they sat like that, Hermione looking anywhere but him, and Riddle staring at her as though he hoped that by fixating on the spot between her eyes, he would be able to set her on fire. 

At about the half an hour mark, Riddle began to pace, wearing a path along one edge of the small, square space. Hermione watched him, up and back, up and back. He refused to make eye contact, and for some reason unknown to her, it really pissed her off. 

“What are you doing?” she finally snapped. 

“What does it look like?” he snarled in response without breaking his stride. 

“Pacing,” Hermione deadpanned. “What I want to know is why?” 

“Then why wasn’t that your question?” He still refused to look at her. 

Hermione tried to ignore him. She did not want to bicker about something so stupid. She was unable to pinpoint exactly why his pacing irritated her, but the swell of frustration only grew within her chest as he continued. 

“It passes the time,” he muttered. “I’m trying to figure out the strategy for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.” His face contorted as he spoke the words, the disdain for her friends clear on his face. 

“Oh? Pray, tell, What grand idea have you come up with?” 

“Nothing, yet,” he said haughtily. “But you’re right - it will be grand.” 

Hermione sneered. She highly doubted that. It was understandable for people not to believe that a joke shop would fair well economically, but she was incredibly proud of what Fred and George had achieved in a small amount of time and she wanted to honour their ingenuity with some of her own. This was one project she would not allow Tom Riddle to leave his mark on. 

She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off. “You know if I was to open my own joke shop —“

“You’d need a sense of humour for that,” Hermione said sweetly. 

Riddle stopped pacing to glare at her. “I would do my own marketing.” He enunciated each word carefully, obviously unhappy that she had interrupted him. 

“Well obviously,” she scoffed. “You’re a marketing expert.” 

“Thank you,” he said dryly, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. The last thing she wanted to do was compliment him. She hadn’t even meant it in a positive way - just that it was a stupid observation on his part. Her tongue twitched inside her mouth, longing to correct him, but she knew she would only make it sound like she was trying to cover up her faux pas. 

“But that’s not why I’d do it.” He grinned maliciously down at her and took a step forward. Hermione narrowed her eyes and braced herself; whatever he said next was not going to be pleasant. “I can’t understand why your little friends would want to place their business in your hands. It seems unethical for one thing, and bad business practice for another.”

There it is; the thinly veiled insult, Hermione thought. At least you’re predictable, Riddle. 

She arched an eyebrow at him and folded her arms across her chest. “A lot of success is about who you know, not what you know. It irks me, but it’s the truth. Perhaps Fred and George realise that with me they get a highly experienced and able marketer, with the added bonus of an intimate friendship - it certainly has made communication easier.” 

“Intimate friendship?” Riddle took another step forward and Hermione had to tilt her head backwards to look at him. “My, my...I wouldn’t have thought you’d have it in you, Granger. Though, it doesn’t surprise me that the twins enjoy each other’s company in the bedroom; they’re so —“ 

It took a few seconds for the insinuation to reach Hermione’s brain, but as it clicked into place, she jumped up and pointed a manicured fingernail at Riddle’s chest. 

“Do not —“ she punctuated her words with jabs to his front, her chest heaving with anger “— insult my friends. They have worked bloody hard for what they have and they do not deserve your crudeness. I get that you have a problem with me and that’s fine, but you don’t get to drag my friends into it.” 

For a moment, Hermione thought she had won. Riddle was looking down at her with an interesting expression, one she had never seen him wear before. He tilted his head to the side and smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, which remained cold and empty. 

“Hmm,” he said. “Interesting...you defend them as if you have something to hide.” 

Hermione fought the urge to pull her hand back and smack him. It was clear that he was trying to rile her up, but for the love of Merlin, she could not guess why. Her teeth gnashed together as she glared up at him, willing him to spontaneously combust, or for the elevator to start working - or both at the same time. 

“You’re an arsehole,” she hissed. “And you’re not worth my time.” 

With that, she took two steps backwards so that her spine was resting against the cool metal of the wall. 

He followed her with predatory strides, until his chest was pressed against her front. “Oh?” he questioned with an arch of his eyebrow. “Then why don’t you prove it?” 

“What?” 

Hermione had barely uttered the word when Riddle’s palms came down either side of her head, causing the metal walls to rattle around them. His expression was hungry as his tongue flicked over his bottom lip and his gaze dropped to her mouth. 

Her first instinct was to fist her hands in his shirt so that she could push him away, but at the contact a low growl rumbled in his chest and something within Hermione snapped. 

His lips were rough as they claimed hers without warning. Teeth and tongues clashed as he tried to set a rhythm and she refused to comply. A moment of clarity had her conscience screaming to push him away, but the rest of her body was on fire and begging for more. 

Riddle thrust one of his thighs between her legs, forcing them apart. He took her hands from his chest and threw them over her head so they hit the wall with a thud. Pain shot down her arms and Hermione winced, but Riddle continued to hold them in place using only one of his hands. 

She refused to feel embarrassed as a moan tore from her throat as he shifted, the top of his thigh brushing against her centre. He pulled away and began trailing hot kisses down her neck towards the buttons of her blouse. With practiced finesse, he undid the first three buttons and continued kissing over her décolletage. 

Hermione’s breath was leaving her in quick bursts, her hands becoming numb as they were still imprisoned above her. Her eyes fluttered shut and her head lolled backwards as Riddle continued, his hot mouth capturing a nipple through the material of her shirt and bra. 

She wriggled her fingers in an attempt to regain feeling in them, caught in an impossible mix of pleasure and pain. His grip tightened around her wrists and Hermione whimpered. A man - and Riddle of all people - treating her this way should not have been such a turn on, but despite the feeble voice of her fading conscience, Hermione’s knickers were slowly dampening from his ministrations. 

Pulling back, Riddle did not look at her as he divested her of her blouse with one hand. His head dipped back down to nip and suck harshly at the newly exposed flesh above her bra, and Hermione whined loudly. Her legs squeezed his thigh between them, but he simply shifted without stopping his teasing of the tops of her breasts, leaving her unable to find friction. She growled, a feral sound vibrating through her entire being. Never had a man ever frustrated her so much in so many ways. Hermione hated that she was enjoying it. 

Riddle chuckled as he resurfaced, finally letting go of her wrists and stepping back to admire his handiwork. Hermione’s hands flopped down to her sides, numb and unpleasantly tingly. She clenched and unclenched them in an attempt to promote blood flow and she winced at the sharp pins and needles as they intensified below her skin. 

When they felt a little bit more like appendages and less like noodles, Hermione let her gaze follow Riddle’s. She gasped as she took in the sight of her chest; red marks were littered across the peaks of her breasts where he had nipped and sucked. A combination of rage and desire swirled within her as she lifted her face to look him in the eye. He stared back, a mixture of triumph and an unspoken challenge apparent in his dark irises. 

For a second, they surveyed each other. Then Riddle stepped forward again and claimed her lips once more. He was rough and demanding, but Hermione held her ground. She kissed him back with equal fervour, leaning in to him and running her nails down his chest, pleased that she was now allowed to touch him. 

She fumbled with his buttons and quickly rid him of his shirt so that she could scratch against his pale skin, reveling in the stark, red lines she left behind. His fingers danced across the skin of her back until he reached the hook of her bra. With a flick of his fingers, he undid the clasp and wrenched the garment from her front. 

He moaned softly at the sight of her bare breasts, and then took a nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard and then bit down on the sensitive bud, making Hermione cry out in pain. Never had anyone been so rough with her - and she was terrified that she liked it. 

His hand found the other nipple and began to pinch and pull it, until Hermione was a quivering mess. She was certain that if he was to step back, she would not be able to stand on her own. His biting and pinching and licking at her breasts had sent shockwaves to the bundle of nerves between her thighs, and the familiar coiling sensation in her gut was alarming. Is it even possible to orgasm from nipple stimulation? she wondered. 

Before she could find out, Riddle released her nipple with a small pop and then lowered himself to his knees. 

“I know you’re enjoying this,” he murmured, his gaze roaming over her bare chest, over her stomach, and lingering on the waistband of her plain grey pencil skirt. “But for me, the pleasure comes from knowing that finally I have something over you.” 

Hermione wanted to argue. She wanted to push him away, to tell him to stop and leave her alone. Have something over me? She wouldn’t allow it. But then he was hitching up her skirt and running his large, warm hands over the smooth skin of her thighs, and Hermione found that she wanted him to have control. 

She whimpered as his fingers danced over the inside of her thighs. Her head knocked back against the wall and Riddle purred, “Good girl; open your legs.” 

Hermione almost lost it then, hearing him praise her like that. She did as he asked, shuffling her legs robotically so that he could access her centre. He wasted no time, diving forward and latching on to her heat through her simple white cotton knickers. She shook from the sudden wet heat against her sensitive clit, and she brought her hands up to tangle in his thick hair in an attempt to ground herself. 

He continued to lap and suck through the thin material, and Hermione thought she might implode, the sensations enough to tighten the coil within, but not enough to snap it. 

“Please,” she begged as the tip of his tongue began to trace languid circles around her clit. She was hyperventilating, her breasts bouncing with the exertion of breathing. 

Riddle chuckled between her legs, sending shocks of pleasure through her centre. She shuddered above him, so close yet so far. “Please what, Hermione?” 

The way he spoke her name sent shivers down her spine. She had never heard him utter it unless it was in a formal setting, and only ever when he was introducing her to new clients or during formal business meetings. 

“I need more.” She moaned as he flattened his tongue against her. “Please, please…” 

“What is it that you want, exactly?” he spoke softly, but Hermione winced was if he had shouted. His voice was too sexy to be allowed, a low baritone full of dirty promises. 

“I want you to…”

“Yes?” 

Hermione bit her lip. She wasn’t even sure exactly what she wanted, and he kept distracting her by placing his mouth back over her clit, her entrance, or inner thigh. She growled in frustration, but the noise ended in a guttural moan as Riddle pushed aside the fabric of her knickers and pushed one finger inside of her. 

“Tell me what you want,” he growled, hooking his finger slightly but not moving it. 

Hermione bucked her hips, gyrating against the slim digit in an attempt to satiate the burning desire flowing outwards from deep within her belly. Riddle only laughed again. She continued to move, sounds of her frustration ringing around the small space. 

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice low and dangerous. He added another finger, easing them in and out at a horribly slow pace before he stopped moving altogether. Hermione’s eyes flew open and she glared at him, slack jawed. Riddle smirked. “Ride my fingers.” 

In any other circumstance, Hermione would have rather Avada’d herself than follow an order from Tom Riddle, but she did not hesitate to do as she was told this time. She began to bounce where she stood, pistoning up and down, bracing herself against the wall. 

He grinned up at her mockingly, simply holding his digits as props for her to attempt to get herself off. The coil continued to wind, tighter and tighter until Hermione thought she would burst. Tears of frustration pricked at the corner of her eyes as her orgasm hung like a dangled carrot, just out of reach. 

Finally, she slumped against the wall and said in a small voice, “I can’t.” 

Riddle withdrew his fingers quickly, and Hermione choked out a dry sob at the sudden emptiness. Her head was spinning and she was exhausted despite not having exerted herself too much until this point. 

He stood in one fluid movement, maintaining eye contact as he reached out to take her hands. Hermione almost smiled as he tugged her toward him, thinking that he was going to offer her comfort. Instead, she stumbled against him and he placed her hands roughly on his belt buckle. 

With a quirk of an eyebrow, he indicated that she should undo it by nodding towards her shaking hands. Hermione fumbled with the strap, sliding it from out of the loops on his perfectly pressed trousers. She glanced up at him and he held out his hand expectantly. 

She placed the belt in it and watched as he folded it in half. Slowly, he brought it up to his chest height, right in front of Hermione’s face, and pressed the leather into a circular shape before forcefully tugging on it, letting the band snap together. 

The almighty crack echoed around the elevator and rang in Hermione’s ears. She flinched away from it, stumbling back against the wall. Riddle grinned sardonically as he stepped towards her, taking her right arm and using it to spin her so that her front was now pressed against the gate. 

“Hold on,” he ordered. 

Hermione gripped the cool bars so tightly her knuckles turned white. She hung her head, uncertain of what to expect. 

There came another deafening crack of the belt from behind her. “Keep looking straight ahead,” he said as Hermione twisted to look at him over her shoulder. 

She did as she was told, her legs beginning to shake in anticipation; she could not remember a time she had ever been his turned on. 

A smooth, warm hand began to rub circles over her arse cheek, still clad in her knickers. Riddle hummed appreciatively as he moved to the other side, and then his hand was gone. 

For a few seconds, there was nothing except silence and the sound of her harsh breathing. Then, without warning, there was a short whistling noise as leather flew quickly through the air, and a sharp smack as it landed across her derrière. 

She cried out in shock as the smarting sensation faded to be replaced with tingles of unspeakable pleasure. His hand smoothed across her skin once more as he muttered praise into her ear. Hermione shivered. 

“Good girl,” he crooned, and Hermione’s legs turned to jelly. “Take your punishment; you will learn to come on command for me.” He kneaded her flesh and then bent down to whisper in her ear. “Say yes, Sir.”

“Yes, Sir!” she gasped.

“Good little slut,” he muttered, and Hermione moaned. 

The leather cracked again in warning, over and over; a crack like a whip, then the stinging, then the pleasure, and the praise. By the time Riddle threw the belt into the corner and grabbed her throat so he could assault her mouth with his tongue, Hermione was shaking so violently she was sure she would collapse. 

“Such a good girl,” he whispered roughly between kisses. “My good girl.” 

Hermione could only moan in response. When he pulled away, she pouted and he shot her a wicked grin, allowing his hand to roam from where it had been holding her neck, over her chest and down to the waistband of her knickers. He hooked his fingers into the elastic and tugged them down her legs, kissing his way back up the inside of her thighs. 

His tongue found her clit and began tracing lazy patterns over the sensitive bud. Heat flared from point of contact, running out towards her belly. Hermione moaned in contentment and began to buck against his face. 

Sweet release was seconds away, and she gripped his hair to hold him in place. As her breathing became even more erratic, however, Riddle suddenly stood up, so that Hermione was left with a few snapped strands of his hair between her fingers, and a desperate ache between her legs. 

She wanted to stamp her foot and scream, but before she had the chance to react properly, Riddle stepped forward and claimed her lips once more. His hands wound around her waist, tugging her against him, his fingers digging almost painfully into her sides. He tasted like her, she noted, and it only served to turn her on more. 

Her hands trailed over his arms before dropping to undo the button and zipper of his trousers. He broke the kiss as she tugged the garment over his thighs and then began to rub him through his monogrammed boxers. His head rested on her shoulder as the muscles of his chest tightened and his breath began to leave him in harsh exhales. 

Hermione smirked, enjoying the power for the moment. It did not last long. Just as she was building a rhythm, Riddle jerked his head up and placed his own hand over hers, pulling it off of his hard length. 

He did not say anything as he stepped backwards and rid himself of his underthings. Hermione allowed herself a moment to take in the sight of him. She started at his feet and worked her gaze up over his toned legs, to where his thick cock stood at attention between them. A gentle v-shape carved the bottom of his abdomen, and a light smattering of brown hair curled from his broad chest towards his pubic bone. His arms were muscular, and flexed imperceptibly beneath her gaze. Finally, she settled on his face, which was once again impassive and impossible to read. 

Her breath hitched as he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms once more, but instead of kissing her or pulling her against him, Riddle lifted her so that she was forced to wrap her legs around his waist. She gasped in shock as his length poked at her entrance, her head falling languidly against the wall. 

He sheathed himself inside of her without warning, making her cry out and dig her nails in to the back of his shoulders. Her walls fluttered around him in delicious anticipation, and she squirmed in an attempt to gain more friction. He chuckled low in her ear. 

Riddle pulled out slowly, and they moaned simultaneously. The guttural sound falling from his lips only increased Hermione’s desire. “Move.” She panted. “Please.”

For once, he did not argue, but did as she asked, setting a furious rhythm which had her bouncing sharply against the wall. The metal dug into her back almost painfully, but she was too lost in the sensation of Riddle’s cock pounding in and out of her to care much. 

He angled himself just right so that he was hitting her sweet spot over and over again, and the coil once again began to tighten. It wasn’t long before Hermione was mewling and begging incoherently, and Riddle was whispering ragged promises in her ear. 

“Come for me, Hermione,” he said. “I want to feel you come undone all over my cock.” 

Hermione tried desperately to let go; Merlin knew she was ready to fall over the precipice, but her body was zinging with overstimulation. Her mind was scattered, pieces of it preoccupied with the way he felt, the way he sounded...and the fact that it was Riddle giving her so much pleasure. Overwhelmed, her orgasm would not come. 

“I can’t,” she gasped, gripping his shoulders even tighter. 

He growled as he continued his frenzied pace and placed a hand on either arse cheek. He spread them at the same time he lifted her slightly, and then pushed her against the wall again. The different angle made for a nice change, but release was still just out of reach for Hermione. She was about to tell him as much, when the pad of his thumb found her clit and applied just the right amount of pressure. 

“Come on,” he muttered in her ear, though whether he was talking to her or himself, Hermione wasn’t sure. 

“Oh my god!” she squealed as he began to move his thumb in quick circles. “Tom!” 

He moaned loudly into her neck, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh there as her walls fluttered around him. “Come on, Hermione.” 

And she was gone, finally tumbling head first over the pleasurable precipice. Her legs locked around him as she bucked her hips in an uncontrollable rhythm. Riddle did not slow down as she rode out her orgasm, moaning and keening until she slumped against him, completely spent. His hand left her clit and gripped her hip, his thrusts short and sharp. 

The sound of their skin slapping against one another echoed around the elevator, and Hermione moaned as another wave of pleasure threatened to crash over her. Her whole body was tingling, simultaneously feeling as though she was covered in fire and ice. His breath was hot against her neck, and she gripped the back of his head as he continued to piston in and out of her. 

“Say my name,” he growled. Hermione’s eyes fluttered, and his grip on her tightened; she would have bruises there. “Say it,” he hissed.

“Tom!” she choked. 

He moaned, a guttural monotone which stretched over three sloppy thrusts into her, and continued as he stiffened. She could feel him throbbing inside her as he came, and it was enough to send her spiralling into a weak - but still pleasurable - orgasm of her own.

As they returned to Earth, Riddle let his hold on her loosen until she dropped to the floor, only just managing to stay on her feet. Her legs shook with the exertion of having to hold her weight, and she clutched the bars of the gate next to her for added support. Their breathing was the only sound as Riddle stumbled away from her and turned so that he was looking the other way. 

They dressed in silence, a sense of dread and regret now replacing the unbridled pleasure in Hermione’s gut. 

What have I done? She chastised herself as she wobbled into her skirt. I can’t believe I… but she couldn’t finish the thought. Bile burned at the back of her throat as reality began to set in. Fucking Riddle may well have been the most stupid, reckless thing she had ever done...and she knew she would pay for it. 

He spun on his heel as he finished adjusting his robes. His face, which not that long ago had been contorted in pleasure due to her, was once again unreadable. Hermione worked quickly to school her features as well, but the glint in his eye told her that he had seen what she so desperately wanted to hide - fear. 

He smirked, and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could the elevator gave a giant shudder and began to move downwards again. Hermione swore, falling backwards gracelessly, but felt only relief as the familiar tingle of magic return to her veins. 

She glanced at Riddle, who was marvelling at his hands, and she figured his magic was once again intact too. “So…” She cleared her throat, and he looked up at her passively. 

Without waiting for her to continue, he said “I don’t want this to make things...weird between us, at work…” 

Hermione stared at him. Whatever reaction she had imagined in her head, this had not been it. Tom Riddle was ruthless, cunning, and a selfish arsehole. He was not one to show compassion or understanding of another human being, and he never cared what anyone else thought of him...until now, apparently. 

Was he saying that he would let her get away with having sex with him - something he could use to make her life absolutely miserable - without any consequence at all? She tilted her head to the side as he continued to watch her. His mask was slipping now; his eyes darted around the small space, his lips were parted and his tongue flicked over them at regular intervals. His hands were clenched together in front of him, and a tic was beginning to work in his jaw. 

Hermione had never seen him looking so unsure in the entire eighteen months they had worked together...and it was thrilling. She knew that the opportunity had finally presented itself for her to one-up him, but she found she didn’t want to show her cards straight away; it would be far more fun to stretch this out as far as she could...possibly until the project was done. 

“Don’t worry, Tom,” she purred, placing her hand on his chest and patting it condescendingly. “I still hate you.” 

With that she smirked up at him and then turned as the soft ding! signalled that they had reached the exit - finally. Hermione did not look back as she stalked out into the pale moonlight, relishing in the ache between her thighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta and friend for running your genius eye over this steaming pile of PWP at the very last minute! You are an angel! <3


End file.
